


Seatimes

by swanandapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Podcast!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanandapirate/pseuds/swanandapirate
Summary: Emma stumbles upon a maritime podcast called Seatimes while researching a case and is immediately intrigued by the topics and the way it is hosted. It's almost addictive, listening to it, and soon she spends an hour every week in front of her laptop just catching up with it. Emma gets somewhat obsessed by its host Jones and of course life finds a way to make their paths cross





	Seatimes

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first one of my fics that I'm posting on ao3. This fic was previously published on Tumblr and fanfiction.net (and still is) but seeing that a part two is in the making, I thought I'd post it here too. Enjoy!

She stumbled upon Seatimes as she was researching a case. The skip was a selfish, misogynistic prick that wore Lacoste polos tied around his neck, a $200-dollar salmon-colored shirt, and a pair of shoes that was probably worth twice, if not thrice, the amount of money his shirt cost. He got thrown into holding for embezzlement of his own company's funds, owned an actual boat and still ran away from every attempt made to make him settle up; he kept and kept on refusing to pay his bail. And so, Emma was brought into the picture.

Following his movements, both real life and online, like a hawk, Emma came to the conclusion that the rich, embezzling jackass was in search of someone to cheat on his wife with. He wasn't even trying to be coy about his search for a mistress. Every picture on the account he had set up on some sleazy dating site were either of his precious boat or of him bare-chested and holding in his stomach on his precious boat.

Not a lot more backstory was needed to figure out the way to crack this case. Emma had to become the woman of all women to him. The one that, unlike all the rest of womankind according to him, had knowledge of boats and how currents worked, and all of that and not to forget a pretty face and nice figure. Luck would have it that Mother Nature and a lot of exercise had granted Emma the latter but the former… not so much.

She sadly– not very sadly if it meant staying clear of Mr. Douchebag– belonged to the general, uninteresting part of her gender, so she was forced to gain a life worth of knowledge in a short period of time. Three days to be more exact, because her skip had agreed to a date in four. Three days to become an expert.

_"Welcome to Seatimes. I am Jones. Consider me your Captain to cross the wild and murky waters of naval and maritime knowledge. Each week will feature a guest as well as some must know things about the soaring seas and the ship sailing them. I hope that by the end of these podcasts, you will consider yourselves more of an expert on the subject."_

* * *

She tried it on her own in the beginning; her eyes skimmed the internet for reliable sources and when those turned out to be pure gibberish to her, she attempted to read every possible Wikipedia page. Emma read about ships and currents and flags and boats and every other thing that had to do with the sea. It was an overload; a tidal wave of content Emma's brain hadn't been able to thoroughly prepare for. The matter entered and seeped back out, only leaving behind small traces of its presence. The typed letters on her bright screen started to blur and the all the remaining information began to collide with each other, the internal battle creating, even more, chaos than resided before.

Emma needed to switch tactics, to come up with a different game plan for this case or her cover would come into deep waters. Her mouse clicked on tons of links and her cursor browsed various videos and articles, but none were to Emma's liking. Either they treated her as a child, explaining everything in a sugary, condescending voice, or they click baited her into picking a video and then persisted to talk about something completely different. Frustration arose and she was this close to giving up until a link on page twelve of Google's results caught her eye. The site was simply called Seatimes and the description talked about a maritime podcast. Perhaps this would manage to remind her which side was port and which one was starboard.

 _"The confusion between_ port _board and starboard is amusing, to say the least. I can't tell you how many a tourist I've seen completely freeze and just stare at me with wide eyes when I mention one of them. I completely understand, however, that if the difference isn't embedded into your head from a young age like left and right are, you get confused. I always remember the little mnemonic that my brother taught me when I was a little lad and that was that drinking a lot of port never made you feel right, but being a star did. So,_ port _board is left and starboard is right."_

* * *

Mr. Douchebag had completely fallen for her act, had stared at her with an amazed and slightly turned on gaze as Emma excitedly talked about coastal navigation and how using charts was better than using a GPS. The job had been smooth sailing; the perp overpowered and imprisoned in no time. It was one of the easiest ones she had ever had, her cover fitting her perfectly (like her dress), and a lot of that, if not all, could be attributed to Seatimes. It had taken Emma one day to listen to seventeen episodes and each one had her yearning for more. She was eager to learn, something that she hadn't experienced for years. So, even though the case had been closed and sealed, Seatimes became a part of Emma's weekly routine.

It even became the highlight of her week. Forty minutes a week were completely dedicated to Seatimes. No distractions; just Emma, a muted phone, her computer and a glass of wine.

The doorbell rang, and rang again since Emma decided to ignore the sound, preferring Jones' British cadence over it. No interruptions. After a third ring, a familiar voice drifted through her door and into her apartment.

"Emma!" Emma sighed and forcefully pressed pause. "I know that you're home; your Bug is out front."

A groan escaped; there was no going back now. Mary Margaret was, as the relentless ringing had already betrayed, an adamant woman. Emma threw her head back, her locks flying around with the jolt. She loved her best friend dearly, but how did she not understand that if Emma wasn't opening the door, there probably was an underlying reason. Like her sacred Seatimes times.

With hasty steps, she approached the door and swung it open. It revealed Mary Margaret, a small smile on her lips and hands folded over her protruding belly.

"What?" Emma greeted, her tone not welcoming at all and her word choice quite curt.

"You could be a bit more kind to a pregnant woman." Her raven-haired friend raised an unamused eyebrow.

Emma supposed that Mary Margaret was right and that she could be more kind, or at least less pissed off.

"I'm sorry, Mary Margaret, please come on in." Her hand gestured to her apartment as the guilt crept up on her.

"I was just joking," Mary Margaret assured as she entered. "It's totally alright. Sorry to barge in."

Emma shrugged in response, showing that it was quite alright.

"What were you doing?" The curiosity filled the room as Mary Margaret peered around. She found it void of any other people or proof something suspicious was taking place and turned back to Emma.

"I was just listening to a podcast," she answered. "Relaxing."

Emma didn't know if her friend had noticed the small jab in her answer.

"So nothing much," was Mary Margaret's conclusion. "Good. I'm here to ask you if you'd like to visit an art gallery a friend of mine is opening. She's really talented and it's supposed to be one of the most hyped events of the month," she explained with excitement, bouncing on the ball of her feet.

Emma's response came instantaneously; she didn't need any time to think about it or consider going.

"No, thanks. I think I'll pass."

Her friend clearly wasn't expecting that answer as she looked confused.

"Emma." Her brow creased and her mouth was set in a discontent scowl.

"I don't feel like going out today," she tried to reason. She usually didn't feel like it, the coziness of her home beating any overtly loud and awkward socializing, but especially today (and every other Wednesday), it was out of the question.

"But there's going to be free food and free drinks. If I can't take advantage of free alcohol, you definitely should."

Emma shook her head, already bracing herself for what would follow. She knew what this meant, declining one of her offers yet again. She would receive one of Mary Margaret's 'way too invested in your social life best friend' speechesTM

"Emma," she began speaking, her tone motherly and at the same time disciplining. "You should go out more. Meet new people. Start dating again."

There was no use. Not since Walsh had completely destroyed her last remnant of hope towards love by cheating on her while they were engaged. Why keep putting herself out there, keep taking part in pleasantries that lead to nowhere? Why should she continue risking her heart if it never worked out?

"I'm not like you, Mary Margaret. I'm not social and bubbly and whatever else belongs to your characteristics," Emma specified. "There's no use in trying to get me to go places. I need a break of at least a year from life, because it's frankly quite exhausting and I want to catch my breath. Everything's fine how it is. I don't need love."

_"My only love is the Sea, Eric."_

_"Jones, don't hold it against me that I'm married."_

_"I'm not. I'm not. As some of you might know Eric's wife is professional swimmer Ariel Andersen. I would imagine that she understands your dedication to the sea and your research."_

_"She does. She is my biggest fan. I recently even named_ an algae _I discovered after her."_

 _"Did she feel honored that there's now, of everything in the very deep sea,_ an algae _with her name floating around?"_

_"I wouldn't call it particularly honored. Disgruntled is another word for it."_

_"As I suspected."_

* * *

Weeks passed and she kept listening. At this point, Emma wasn't fooling herself anymore. This wasn't about the content of the show, hadn't been about that for quite some time. Her attentive listening was because of Jones. His voice, the soothing melody, and his passion. Every word dripped of love for the subject, of pure enjoyment. That was what he transferred onto Emma. That was what made her tune in week after week.

Her curiosity got the best of her one day and the desire to know more about him as well. The man was an enigma, a mystery. The only thing she could derive from the podcasts was that, if his accent told her anything, he had to be UK based.

There were a lot of people that bore the name Jones across the pond and trying to find him among them would be an impossible endeavor. Emma had one last trick up her sleeve, one last asset she hadn't utilized yet; her bail bonds knowledge. Though "bail bonds knowledge" wasn't anything specific or a program she could run, it was more being persistent and scrutinizing every nook and cranny of her resources.

She checked everything but there was nothing. Every possible connection to Jones was always carefully through Seatimes. The contact email address was just called Seatimes, the site was registered on that name, the Facebook didn't have any personal mentions about the person managing the account. It was a dead end. At least she discovered that the page often posted little previews of episodes to come, so she liked it to be kept up to date.

_"I know I've been quite secretive about who I am, where I live, what I do but that's simply because I don't think that would add anything to this podcast. A lot of listeners have sent me an email recently– which you can if you have any questions, the link is on the site– about the dangers of sailing. So, for the first time, I'm feeling inclined to share a very personal story._

_"A couple of years ago, a younger, more carefree version of myself went out for a sail. I was boisterous back then, overconfident about my own capabilities as a sailor. A storm was predicted that day but I didn't heed the forecast's warning, I simply ignored it and continued with my plans. The storm was terrible; as terrible as the forecast had predicted it to be and I got into trouble. The boat I was on was completely wrecked and my left hand was completely crushed which lead to the stump I know have._

_"This story isn't to scare you away from touching or setting foot on a boat ever_ again, _because I didn't. It cost me blood, sweat, and tears but I am able to live without my hand now,_ am _able to do what I love most which are sailing and making this podcast. There are dangers to sailing like to the rest of life, but a lot of them can be prevented. Be smart, listen to weather forecasts, check everything, double check everything before you leave, make sure that you are one hundred percent capable of sailing, and most importantly: be safe."_

* * *

"Happy birthday!" Mary Margaret beamed with joy, throwing her hands up in the air and welcoming Emma for a hug.

The loft that Mary Margaret shared with her husband David (and Emma's other best friend) was adorned with little lights and balloons and filled with many familiar faces.

She smiled in return, letting the happy atmosphere of her friends and family in the room catch on. Emma normally wasn't a fan of birthday parties; a small and quiet dinner usually sound far more alluring but she knew that, with turning thirty, a party would be inevitable. Surprise parties were even less enjoyable to Emma and Mary Margaret knew that, giving the birthday girl a much-appreciated heads up weeks in advance. Emma had embraced it, forced herself to not be a negative Nellie when the notorious day arrived and to actually enjoy herself.

Crossing the entire loft, she greeted everyone, thanked them for coming and flashed them brief smiles as a thank you for their birthday wishes.

Everyone was chatting, a drink in hand and some quiet music floating through the room. It was in that moment, the start of a new decade of her life that Emma decided to change, that she made a vow. To be more open again, to go out again, to stop locking herself in her apartment while she had so many people that loved her and wanted the best for her. She'd let the past control the present too much and this was the end of it.

"Alright," David interrupted Emma's thinking and the others' small conversation. "It's time for Emma to open her presents."

The room erupted into cheering and Emma felt the blush creep onto her cheeks.

"David and I'll go first," Mary Margaret announced, approaching Emma with a small blue envelope in her hands.

The couple looked at her expectantly as Emma accepted the gift and slowly opened it. Her fingers revealed a card written in Mary Margaret's swirly handwriting with only three words on it.

"The Sailing Brothers?" Her brow furrowed as she questioned the message. "What's this?"

"Well," Mary Margaret started timidly, turning the card in Emma's hands to reveal the backside. There was more written there. "I've noticed that you've been quite interested in sailing and boats lately so I thought you might enjoy a small sailing trip."

Staring at her friends, back at the blue card and back at her friends, Emma narrowed her eyes.

"How did you notice that?"

Before, Emma had been certain that her Seatimes obsession was something concealed, something locked between the four walls of her apartment.

"Facebook?" Her answer resembled more to a question. "You've been liking a lot of nautically themed posts. Was I wrong to assume you would like this? Because I can still change it if you want."

"No, no!" she protested. "It's amazing. You're both amazing."

"Oh good," Mary Margaret sighed in relief. "Just let us know when you'd like to go and we'll take care of everything. You should probably go as soon as possible, before winter truly sets and everything becomes cold. I doubt that a sail will be enjoyable when you're freezing."

 _"Honestly, I am not a winter person. There's just something far more alluring about sailing in the summer when it's warm, the sun is shining. Even though summer gets my preference, I don't stop sailing during the winter. Only when the weather forces_ me, _when it's too cold or stormy. There's just something about the cold wind racing and sweeping through your hair, coloring your cheeks that_ makes _it worthwhile._

_"As you might've guessed; today is all about how to prepare yourself and your boat for winter."_

* * *

The more she thought about it, the more Emma had been dreading this getaway sail. It meant being alone for several hours with a random person who was supposed to teach her how everything worked. And as one might've noticed, Emma and socializing didn't usually go hand in hand.

There was her resolution, however, to be more open to new people and new things lingering in the back of her mind. Plus, she couldn't let down Mary Margaret and David by letting their probably quite expensive gift go to waste. So, after a lot of pep talking herself, Emma had chosen a date, had sent it to M's and had let her book it. This way, she'd be forced to go.

The day arrived and Emma rushed to her window, hoping the sky would be dark and gray, predicting a looming storm. The sky her eyes witnessed was anything but. It was sunny and only a few puffs of white decorated the blue background. Of course, today the weather gods decided to forget that November meant fall, not summer.

Slowly, she got dressed, ate a small breakfast and made her way to the docks. M's had texted her the address and the Bug reached the destination fifteen minutes before her sail was scheduled. Emma stayed in the car for five additional minutes, fiddling with her fingers before deciding that she had waited long enough.

A large sign told Emma that this was indeed The Sailing Brothers and she pushed the door open, triggering a bell. A man a bit older than her thirty years walked towards her with a kind smile that made crinkles appear around his blue eyes.

"Hello."

"Hi," Emma spoke. "My name is Emma Swan."

The man nodded before Emma could continue explaining that it was Mary Margaret that had booked the sail for her.

"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Swan." He offered his hand and Emma grabbed it, shortly shaking it. "My name is Liam. Welcome to The Sailing Brothers."

Emma muttered a small thanks in return, but sensed that her dread towards the trip had lessened considerably by meeting Liam and getting a glimpse of his personality. He seemed like the kind of person that wouldn't let the sail get awkward, something Emma would really appreciate.

"Mary Margaret told me this was a birthday gift." His eyebrows rose slightly, checking the piece of information with Emma and dropped again as she let out a confirming hum.

"Happy birthday to you," he congratulated before getting back to business. "The sail will take about three hours and includes an introduction to sailing, but seeing that Mary Margaret told me you're quite interested in the sea, a lot of it will probably be repetition. There are complementary drinks and snacks on board, so you need to rein yourself in." He threw her a fast wink.

Sounded like Mary Margaret to tell her entire life, her interests, and aspirations to a virtual stranger.

They had started moving, left the building and walked towards the ship Emma assumed was going to be the one they were going to use.

Suddenly, a figure appeared on the deck of the ship, carrying a rope and throwing it from one side to the other. The man was clearly preparing it to leave the docks.

Liam must've noticed Emma's curious glance as he replied to a question that was only asked in Emma's mind.

"That's my brother Killian, the actual sailing brother." He chuckled. "I take care of the business side and he gets all the fun."

It was a bit disappointing to hear that Liam wasn't going to be accompanying her on her sail. She'd just gotten used to him and was beginning to look forward to all of it.

A phone rang in the distance and it made Liam look up. His eyes moved between the small distance between the ship and Emma.

"I should probably go and get that. It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Swan. I hope you enjoy your sail."

And with that Liam left her standing alone on the docks, running back to his office to answer the ringing phone. Emma closed the previous distance and halted right before the ship. She didn't want to assume she had permission to come aboard, so she waited until she was noticed.

The wait gave her time to observe the man hastily working. His hair had the same shade as his brother's but lacked the small curls. He was muscular, the movements in his shoulders and arms betrayed that, and younger than Liam. His very defined jaw was dusted with light scruff that changed color when the sun hit it.

Killian suddenly stopped moving, his eyes settling on her, and flashed her a grin while motioning her on board. Emma let out a small, preparing breath and stepped on the wooden plank.

His eyes were blue as well and absolutely took her breath away.

Crap. The guy she was stuck on a ship with for three hours was absolutely gorgeous.

"Emma Swan, I presume?"

"That's me," she replied.

It proved far too distracting to focus on his eyes so Emma chose to lower her gaze to the floorboards instead.

"Welcome aboard."

He extended his hand and Emma tried to ignore the little jolt of electricity tha ran up her arm as their palms touched.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Killian Jones."

Emma stilled.

That voice. How he pronounced Jones. It seemed awfully familiar. She softly shook her head, trying to get rid of her feeling. It was not because his last name was Jones and that he was British, that he was that British Jones.

But she had noticed something else. Killian's left hand was missing. A metal attachment in the form of a hook replaced it. Missing a hand was a bit rarer than being called Jones and being British and the concurrence of those three was probably not very common.

"Don't worry about it, lass," Killian said, noticing her lingering eyes and holding the hook up. "I'm perfectly capable of steering the ship without it."

"No it wasn't-" Emma remonstrated. "I wasn't doubting that." She shook her head.

She should just ignore it, pretend it's a very coincidental coincidence. That he was called Jones. And was British. And he loved sailing. And he didn't have a left hand.

"Even though the weather is quite good today-" Killian continued, undeterred. "-there's quite a lot of wind today, but don't worry, wind isn't always bad. Especially when it comes to sailing." He bared his teeth in a grin. "To start your sail, I will need you to go to starboard and fetch a rope for me."

The thought that this might be Jones was still haunting Emma's mind, slowing down her reaction and making her seem confused about star- and port board. She knew which one was which, thanks to Seatimes.

"It's confusing, isn't it?" Killian said. "My brother taught me a mnemonic when I was small to remember and it was that drinking a lot of port never made you feel right-"

"But being a star did," Emma intervened, familiar with the mnemonic and everything he was probably going to say on this sail.

It was him.

"Aye," he said taken aback. "How did you know that?"

Emma wasn't buying his act; he had to be perfectly aware of how she knew that.

"You're him." The corners of her lips curled but it was more in a grimace than in a smile.

All of this reeked of Mary Margaret meddling.

"Him?" A crease appeared in Killian's–Jones'– forehead. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm not following."

The confusion clouding her mind completely disappeared, Emma becoming bolder, straightening her back.

"Jones." Her hand gestured towards him. "Seatimes. How did Mary Margaret put up you to this?"

Emma was getting angry now. How could they trick her like this? She already knew it was weird for her to be so obsessed with a stupid maritime podcast, but this only made her more aware of it, only made it more embarrassing. She would think Jones would have enough integrity not to do this to an unsuspecting woman.

"You listen to Seatimes?"

"Yeah," Emma almost yelled in exasperation. "That's why I'm here right? For some fangirl sail."

"No, I'm pretty certain it's just an ordinary sail or maybe the fangirl upgrade package didn't get through to me." Killian smirked. "But I am excited to meet my first official fan."

"Oh."

Emma's face fell and her eyes widened. Shit. While she thought she was being embarrassed, she was actually embarrassing herself. The heat rose to her cheeks and Emma had an intense urge to run as fast as she could and sever all ties with Seatimes. No way in hell she could enjoy listening to it anymore. "I'm not doing this." Turning around, she walked away from him and any further shameful situations.

"Swan," he yelled and repeated as he caught her hand. "Swan. Don't leave. Everything has been paid for and I've just completely prepared the Roger. You got her all excited to go out."

He couldn't make her feel bad about a ship. Things didn't work like that, did they? She did feel a tinge of guilt but if it was because of the ship or him or her best friends, was up for debate.

"The Roger?" she questioned. "As in The Jolly Roger?"

"The one and only." He smiled proudly. "So what do you say?" His head tilted as his blue eyes perused her face.

"Alright."

Emma returned and went to starboard to grab the rope he needed. He sent her a thankful look as he continued to prepare the Roger.

There was not a lot of use for him to teach her things about sailing because she already knew them, so they just sat in silence next to each other when the Roger was well underway, neither of them knowing what to say.

"I thought you lived in England." Emma looked at him.

"Moved here seven years ago with my brother." He shrugged after explaining his accent.

The silence returned and the wind wisped around, sending Emma's locks flying.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how long have you been listening to the podcast?" His expression was curious.

"About three months, more or less." Emma's hand tried to tame her locks, pushing them behind her ear. "I needed to do some research."

Killian stood up and went to stand behind the helm.

"Are you writing a book?"

"Oh no," Emma was quick to correct him. "I'm a bail bonds person and I had a target that loved sailing and women who were into it."

"Ah." He turned the helm, but only barely and its creaking was the only sound again. "Did you get him?"

"Huh?" Emma asked, attention focused on the openness of the sea and not on his words.

"Your target?" Killian clarified. "Did you catch him?"

"Oh, yeah." Emma nodded, walking around and tracing her finger along the railing. "I did."

"Good."


End file.
